Basilisk Venom, Bloody Hearts and other such things
by Hweianime
Summary: Oneshots and prompts for Pick Your Poison Competition. Main pairing is VoldemortHarry.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi hi~~**

 **So this is my first ever attempt at participating at a competition (cue cheers please). I think I wrote that in the summary (the fact this is for a comp not the cheers). Probably.**

 **Anyway!**

 **The prompt was to write about my chosen pairing -Voldemort/Harry- making up after an argument. And I'm all like _lol_ okay, and a few hours later here's what I produced. **

**Words: 960**

 **Enjoy~~**

* * *

"You are _insufferable_."

Green eyes hardened at the hissed furious words of the serpentine man who had just slammed the doors to his quarters open like it wasn't already unlocked. Such a jackass. To be fair though he _was_ pretty sure that was one of the main criteria for Dark Lords.

Harry can see that advertisement now, it'll be all, do _you_ have an immense hatred for a large group of people? Notice you have some minor obsessive tendencies and an urge to rule the world? Are _you_ a complete jackass? _Well_ a Dark Lord is the job for you!

"If you think those are the traits of Dark Lords Potter then I think you really should take a good long look in the mirror." Voldemort growled, though the younger male couldn't help despite the red haze of anger, notice the other looked much less tense, less ready to spring and lash out like he had when he entered his quarters. Just seeing that made his own body relax slightly in response, fiery hot emotions dimming down to an easily controlled simmer. Which was annoying because Harry knew he should be absolutely enraged for what the Magical Lord of Britain had done. He should be screaming and throwing hexes and punching the noseless bastard in the face.

Instead he closed his eyes and sighed, brushing back his hair with his fingers in a swift, soothing motion. "How many bloody times have I told you not to read my mind?"

"It's not my fault if you just broadcast your thoughts all over the place." Voldemort replied almost smugly, captured in the familiar web of an old, far more comfortable argument they've bantered at for years now.

"I'm not a jackass." Was protested, a weak attempt to cling onto the shreds of their true argument.

"I think those Order members would think differently considering what you did during the final battle at Hogwarts." Fuck. Low blow. The man knew he hated that memory, the guilt that came with it hand in hand, and those looks of utter betrayal and vengeance from people he considered family...

They were all dead now. Long buried and rotted in the cool embrace of damp earth, their last memories Harry will never know because that day, that battle, was the last he saw any of them. He'd buried those memories soon after, buried them like corpses. Corpses which Voldemort has dug up, revealing the disgusting rotting hurt to the light of day.

"Well at least I didn't just pass a bill that decreed confined exile to anyone in close relation to the members of the resistance."

"You should be happy I didn't execute them all like originally planned," The Dark Lord sneered. "You were the reason for such leniency, why aren't you pleased?"

"You're taking families away from their homes!" Harry burst out. "Do you have no soul?! Oh. _Wait_."

"You will not speak to me like that... Boy." The last word spoken mockingly, the older of the two more than fully aware how much Harry loathed being called that.

"Who died and made you king?!" The raven haired man screamed, heart hammering as rage scratched from inside his chest, clawing to get out and be unleashed in an inferno of destruction.

"Dumbledore did!" Voldemort shouted out, crimson red flashed brighter, alight with ferocity and temper, "Dumbledore died and you helped me do it." The harsh colour of blood still bright with fury darkened at the thought, the hissing quality of his voice more pronounced as the pale snake-like lord glided slowly toward the defiant, his defiant counterpart. Cold long fingers almost reverently cupping the lithe man's face, a contrast to the near violently way he pulled the other closer toward his being. " _You_ helped _me_." He murmured lowly into the younger's ear. A sharp vindictive curl of pleasure weaved down his spine as he watched Harry flutter his green eyes as he reluctantly shivered, moving into his touch, _surrendering_ to him.

"You are still a jackass."

"Ah but I am yours. Now and forever." The Dark Lord whispered enticingly, it was times like this you could see what the man could've been before Voldemort. You could see Tom Riddle, composed and suave and so very tempting with every word that dripped from his silver tongued mouth. Like honey sweet venom. So different to the vicious, ruthless persona of Voldemort. But then again, the man, either man, both men, were going to be the death of Harry anyway. It was all about picking your poison.

"Till death do us part?"

Voldemort growled, low and animalistic as he tightened his grip on his lover. "Death will never part us."

Harry smiled softly at the sheer resolve in the serpentine man's voice, his eyes straying downwards, lingering at the Gaunt ring and it's seemingly innocent black stone imbedded in it. "No," He mused thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you'll let it."

" _Never_." Voldemort agreed vehemently.

And then he pushed his almost lipless mouth against Harry's own human ones, slowly, _possessively_ devouring the heat of him, of everything. Because Harry was _his._ This beautiful strong man that came to _him._ He might've came kicking and slashing and screaming. He might still be fighting even now. But Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defy, was still here by his side years after the war. A constant in the swarming turmoils of deceit and lies and treachery. Standing by as his equal, a not so quiet presence on the mountain they've built from the rubbles of war, to watch the world they rule grow.

And that was almost enough for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Coffeeshop!AU**

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At five minutes before closing time, right on the dot, the little bell that signals the opening of the door chimes cheerily. Harry Potter always waits for that jingle with a mixture of fond exasperation.

Most customers don't come have coffee at 8:55pm. Actually _no one_ comes for coffee at 8:55pm. Yet here he is, like clockwork, Mr Tom Marvolo Riddle striding in with his long legs in perfectly tailored black pants with a matching well cut suit that goes well with his overall haughty _'I'm gorgeous and I know it'_ looks, as if he owns the place.

Physically the man is perfect. Like even if you were a straight guy or a not so straight girl or strictly into black guys or something it didn't matter because Mr Riddle was absolutely _that fucking attractive_. Tall with light skin that contrasted greatly to wavy dark hair pulled back to emphasise his frankly stunning deep blue eyes that even the most illiterate people could write epic poems about alone and- wait where were we going we this again?

In fact he would be absolutely irresistible if it wasn't for that one small issue that was his _entire_ goddamn personality. Because if we looked there Harry had always imagined his soul was missing a few pieces. And when he said a few pieces he meant almost all of it. Scattered across the hills of England. Because this man was also a complete and utter _bastard._

"Potter, still haven't fired you yet?"

See? Bastard.

Harry grits his teeth and smiles through the usual spike of annoyance that seems to accompany Riddle like the plague. After maybe about a year of dealing with the man he's managed to earn himself enough toughened skin to push on through the first obligatory scathing remarks that for some reason always felt a little sharper toward him than anyone else in the shop.

"Why Mr Riddle, how you flatter me. Would you like to pick your poison today or should I just do the usual?"

Riddle quirked a half smile and raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "Would it make any difference?"

The green eyed barista shrugged, now genuinely grinning unrepentantly, "Nah but you'll at least be getting the illusion of control that you're so obsessed with."

"It is how I've gotten where I am today."

Harry laughed at the sheer smugness oozing out of the older man, turning toward his counter to pick a few little things and work the machine, "I didn't know such high amounts of arrogance was required at our quaint little cafe during closing hours."

"You know what I mean."

"Ah, yes. How is that miracle drug of yours coming along? VOLDEMORT was it? I searched the name online like you told me to." Green eyes glanced to meet stormy blue ones as he raised a brow. "Flight from Death, really? Not a tad presumptuous is it?"

Riddle practically puffed his chest out in visible pride, say what you want about the ruthlessly obsessive (and Harry did not find that in anyway at all attractive, he _didn't_. Stop judging.) man but he was a true genius who put great triumph in his works. "VOLDEMORT's still in the beta testing phase but so far we've been getting amazing results. Severus has done an admittedly admirable job tweaking the chemical imbalance problem in our first strain."

"I'm not exactly the man's number one fan-" Understatement. The first time he'd interacted with the hook nosed bat was when the scientist slammed down a cup of coffee and then berated his incompetence for five straight minutes about the difference between low fat and skim milk. As if that sallow faced man would notice the goddamn calories. "-but maybe you should tell him that in person, instead of well, telling that to me."

"But then the man would be under the illusion that I allow makings of initial flaws in the first place, and then he would feel actually satisfied with fixing a mistake he could've prevented in the first place. That is unacceptable."

Harry smiled indulgently, if it was anyone else, even that ponce Lucius Malfoy he would've probably at least given a halfhearted spiel about it being 'unfair' and 'unreasonable' and 'Mr Riddle how many times have we talked about the need to at least pretend to have some sort of emotions- or whatever your species has in replacement for?'. However just yesterday Snape may have took one sip of his coffee (and for some forsaken reason the man only seems to demand the beverage come from Harry's apparently 'piss poor handling of the fine arts of brewery') looked him in the eye and then whilst smirking like the tool he is, proceeded to empty it's contents into the nearby trash with some excuse on it's temperature.

So you would forgive this poor barista if there was no love lost at this moment.

"Speaking of unacceptable," Harry began in a lyrical tone of voice as he began pouring his new concoction into a green scaly patterned cup- it's a special tradition by now of him making new coffee brews for the scientist to try out ever since he accidentally gave the man his untested 'Almond Antidote,' that was one of his more popular orders now- "Your rivals were here this afternoon."

And just like that Riddle's generally good mood crumbled like a week old cookie. "Why do you even let that senile old man and his cult in here anyway?" He scowled into his perfectly manicured (of course) nails. "You told me you didn't like them." The man added peevishly, with an expression that Harry would never admit filled him with irritated affection.

"To be fair I didn't like you at first," If possible Riddle scowled even harder, "And it's not like your minions warmed my heart either." That the older man kind of looked thoughtful, then nodded in agreement. Bastard. Their his minions. And Harry knows full well how the man enjoys watching them tease and bully him to insanity and back. "Also Dumbledore and his PHOENIX team actually provide me with enough profit for me to run this shop's inventory for a week."

"We pay you too."

"All you guys buy are coffee. Surprisingly enough our cafe cannot sustain itself on your meagre purchases alone."

"We don't just buy coffee."

"Other than Lucius who purchases those decadent lattes he likes, yes you do."

"... Lucius orders lattes?"

"A hazelnut caramel cyanide blast with extra caramel on Monday. A Two gunshot chocolate chai twist on Tuesday. A Merciful Mercury mocha yesterday with a slice of Magical mushroom quiche. And a Belladonna berry blast shake this morning." he recited happily, what could he say? That prissy man had such beautifully expensive tastes and surprisingly a willingness to try new things. New things that seemed to equal about fifteen bucks a cup.

Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at the listing of orders, "You seem awfully fixated on my subordinate Potter." He pointed out rather accusingly, "Something you'd like to share with me?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Mr Riddle. No offense but if I hold any secrets of importance I think the last thing I would ever do is share them with you."

"Is that a no?"

"Here's your coffee."

"That was definitely _not_ a yes." The man decided confidently as he took the steaming black liquid with a smug smirk. "Good. I would hate to destroy such a valuable asset to my project."

"As much as I flatter the implication my sexual interest warrants such extreme measures from my customers I do not appreciate the near loss of one of my best consumer."

"Aren't I you're best consumer?"

"Nice try Mr Riddle," Harry responded dryly, valiantly ignoring the way his heart fluttered just a little bit at that face. That gorgeous, gorgeous face. "My best customer doesn't wait till closing hours just to order a potentially seven dollar fifty cup for only five dollars." As he kept talking the green eyed young man watched with increasing amusement as the other's face descended into a darkening frown Harry decided to give the man a metaphorical bone. With a sly wink he pushed the cup of coffee closer to the genius. "Only my favourite customer can do that."

"I'm your favourite?" Tom questioned with as much disbelieving suspicion and well veiled hope that can probably be injected into three words. Harry's response was to smile, it was warm and soft like a freshly baked sponge cake.

"Of course. The clues are all there really." He teased with his own feelings buried under his words, they were quite alike in that manner he'd found. "So much for being smart."

" _I'm_ your favourite." The man repeated with a bit of awe and a lot of smug glee, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in an almost pleased smile as he sipped his given brew. Almost immediately upon swallowing though he coughed, clutching his pale throat like he'd swallowed a ball of fire. "What the fu-"

"Oh." Harry winced sheepishly, "I must have added too much cream flavoured popping candy to the mixture."

Tom Riddle stared at the barista then at the seemingly normal looking cup of coffee flavored death literally warmed over in his hands and then back at Harry, giving him a very strong look that said, _'I am a certified genius, I graduated Harvard and Oxford, I am one of the youngest scientists to head my own medical research team this close to a breakthrough in scientific history on eternal life and yet I still cannot believe that you are a person that exists and I interact with you on a daily basis.'_ Now this look can be taken in two forms, absolute irritation or endeared amusement. Harry would like to think this was the second option. Because if it was the first the green eyed young man could sense a face full of hot coffee in his terrifyingly immediate future.

"I call it my Battery acid burnout," He explained hastily, "for the half dead bodies that need that jolt to their system." Harry plastered on his most salesman like grin and gave an exaggerated wink, the joke was met by purposely awkward silence. He knew for fact it was purposeful because Riddle had never not ever had some sort of remark on the tip of his shiny silver forked tongue, so the scientist was totally holding back his words just for the satisfaction of seeing him writhe.

"You never cease to surprise me. _Really._ " Tom finally drawled out.

"Ok well there's no need to be so bloody sarcastic."

"I wasn't being sarcastic."

"Riddle please, if you a-mmph!" Whatever continuation of that sentence about to be said was completely pushed down a cliff as lips were pushed onto lips. And it was just so _Tom fucking Riddle_ to push everything on the counter to the floor and pounce like some sort of Armani clad panther at the unsuspecting barista. Somewhere in the back part of Harry's mind that wasn't going _OHMYGODHETASTESLIKERASPERRYISHEWEARINGCHAPSTICK?!_ he was sure he was kind of annoyed about the mess the man had just made.

Bastard.


End file.
